A/N: Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm glad to see my hand at cliffhangers and suspense is working! :) Sorry for not responding to all of them individually... I honestly lost track of them. Thanks to Melody Sypher Carston for being my beta on this!

Dean was on a stakeout. Armed with Ding Dongs and the biggest cup of coffee the gas station offered, he had settled in for a long night of monster watching. On instructions from his father, the dutiful son was keeping an eye on the rural house of a suspected werewolf. It wasn't quite the full moon, but it never hurt to test a hunch.

Dean yawned loudly. It was getting close to morning, for which he was grateful. Rural California was probably one of the most boring (though admittedly one of the most beautiful) places Dean's ever had to hunt. He was ready for a big breakfast and then a good long nap.

Thank God Dad left. Dean thought. He could do as he pleased when his father wasn't around.

Dean jumped when his cell began ringing.

"Yeah?" Dean answered, his voice rough with lack of sleep.

"Hey Dean. You still watching that werewolf outside Fresno?"

"Yup." Dean answered wearily. He was 25 years old for Christ's sake—he didn't need someone checking up on him.

"Listen, uh, there's a hunter a couple hours away who needs a hand."

"Can't you call someone else Bobby? I'm kind of in the middle of something." Dean said, taking a sip of now cold coffee and grimacing.

"Well I would, but you're the closest hunter. Look, the guy really needs help here. And if you could haul ass, that wouldn't hurt."

"What, is the guy hurt or something?" Dean asked quizzically.

"Yeah. Pretty bad too, I think."

Dean sighed. Another rescue operation for some stupid rookie hunter. Great.

"Alright. Where is he?"

"Palo Alto."

About to turn the keys in the ignition, Dean froze. "Bobby… tell me it's not Sam."

Bobby paused before replying, "It's Sam."

"Well why the hell didn't you tell me that?! Where is he, Bobby?!"

Bobby relayed as much information as he knew to Dean, hoping it would be enough for him to find his injured brother. Dean sped off, abandoning the stakeout, his father be damned.

A torturous three-hour long drive ahead of him, Dean pushed the Impala as fast as he could without alerting the cops. Based on what Bobby told him, Sam was injured to the point that he was trapped. Dean's heart clenched as Bobby's words echoed in his mind, and he pushed the Impala faster.

Dean didn't understand it; Sam was supposed to be living a life that didn't include hunting. He had been damn insistent on it. So unless a hunt had found him – Dean shifted uncomfortably at the thought – then Sam had been hunting. "Shit, Sam." Dean said in exasperation, running a hand through his hair. It didn't make sense.

It had been months since Dean had even spoken to Sam. After Sam left for Stanford, and the accompanied fight with their father, the brothers had spoken seldom to each other. They tried to keep tabs on each other's lives, but Dean didn't understand Sam's world of exams and essays, and Sam didn't want to hear anything to do with a life of credit card scams and questionable motels. One night after a particularly vicious hunt Dean had called, drunk to the point of slurring, begging Sam to come back to his family. A furious fight had ensued, Dean venting his anger with Sam for his so called abandonment while Sam argued his point of wanting to live his own life. Their conversation quickly turned into a nearly unintelligible shouting match until Sam had hung up after one last furious "You'll never understand".

Dean grimaced at the memory.

The sun began to peak over the horizon as Dean entered the city of Palo Alto. Following Bobby's vague instructions, he found the eastern edge of the city and the lone brick house on a street of dilapidated and decaying buildings. The street was empty this early in the morning.

Dean scrambled out of the car and squinted in the bright morning light. He grabbed a duffel, stuffing it with the med kit filled with the basics, some blankets, and a couple bottles of water. He had no idea what state Sam was in, but he hoped his few supplies could cover it for at least a little while. Dean slammed the trunk closed, walking quickly to the cellar doors on the side of the house. He pulled them open with a creak and let them fall to the ground with a thud. With the sun rising on the opposite side of the house, the early morning light did little to illuminate the cavernous opening.

"Sam?!" Dean called into the darkness.

No answer.

Taking a deep breath to settle the flutter of panic in his chest, Dean pulled out a flashlight, shining the light into the basement. He laid it near the top of the ladder to give him some light to work by and began his quick descent into the basement. He jumped down from the last few rungs.

"Sam?!" Dean called again, his voice cracking a bit.

Dean pulled out another flashlight, the one usually meant for Sam, and quickly scanned the room. "Aw, sick." He groaned, grimacing as the light fell over several dead bodies and piles of discarded skin. A puddle of drying blood next filled his line of sight, and Dean felt his stomach flip. A trail led away from the puddle, as if something had dragged the person bleeding. His heart in his throat, Dean followed the trail with the light, leading him to a pair of long, gangly legs.

"Sam!" Dean rushed forward towards his brother. Sam was slouched against the wall, head hanging still in unconsciousness against his chest. "Oh, Sam." Dean mumbled as he crouched down, placing a hand behind Sam's neck. His skin was cold and clammy, his face pale.

"Sam! Sam, wake up." Dean commanded, quickly glancing down Sam's body and taking in his injuries. He felt trepidation sink in as he took in the blood soaked bandaging around Sam's leg, his jeans dark with blood. A jagged tear in Sam's t-shirt revealed an angry cut that, at that moment at least, wasn't bleeding. Dean didn't like the look of Sam's shoulder either – probably dislocated. He took a bit of comfort in the slow rise and fall of Sam's chest, indicating life.

Needless to say, this was not the kind of reunion with his brother Dean had in mind.

"Sam! C'mon, man, you have to wake up, now." Dean said, shaking Sam and slapping him lightly on the cheek. Sam's head only lolled forward, still in unconscious. A quick check of Sam's pulse revealed a heart rate that was too quick.

Swallowing his worry, Dean pulled out the med kit and assumed the healer role. He would clean Sam up better later, but, for now, Dean just needed to stop Sam from bleeding out, especially because it seemed like he had bled enough as it was. He pulled out a roll of gauze, hoping he had enough to cover the long, deep gash on Sam's leg that was of most concern. Dean whipped out the pocket-knife he always carried and carefully cut away the makeshift bandages that were now soaked. As Dean began to tightly wrap the leg with gauze, he heard a moan from Sam.

Dean abandoned his work, turning to face Sam again and cupping his face in his hands.

"Sam? Sam, wake up, now. I need you to wake up."

Sam's brow furrowed as he struggled to process Dean's words. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open to find the concerned face of his brother hovering in front of him. Dean smiled weakly, relief filling him.

"Dean?" Sam whispered. His head felt fuzzy. Why was his brother here? He hadn't called him. Had he? His thoughts were slow and disjointed, as if he had to drag each word through molasses. But Sam was pretty sure he wouldn't call his brother unless something really bad had happened.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm here. Gonna get you out of here, ok?" Dean said softly.

"You're here?" Sam slurred, his hazel eyes revealing his confusion.

"Yeah, Sam. I'm here." Dean said, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder as if to reinforce that truth.

The touch grounded Sam, a familiar hand in a comforting place. "Good. You're always here." Sam whispered, his voice weak with exhaustion.

"Not always." Dean admitted, eyes downcast.

"Tired Dean." Sam slurred, his eyes falling shut again.

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't do that. Open your eyes, Sammy." Dean commanded in his best big brother voice.

Sam's eyes shot open at the use of his nickname, locking onto Dean's green ones.

"They're open." Sam insisted.

"I can see that." Dean said with a smirk. "Keep 'em that way."

"Thirsty, Dean."

Dean nodded once, and pulled a water bottle out of his duffle. Unscrewing the lid, he offered it to Sam before realizing his brother had no energy to grab it. "Here I got it." Dean tipped the open bottle against Sam's lips, allowing him to take several small sips before pulling it away. The cool liquid was a blessing in Sam's parched mouth, filling him with relief. He was hot and cold at the same time, his body weary and his mind confused.

"More." Sam whispered.

"Can't right now, Sammy. I need to fix you up a bit first. Don't conk out on me." Dean said clearly.

"No promises." Sam joked weakly, blinking slowly. Sam's vision was a tunnel, holding only Dean in the halo of light supplied by the flashlight. "Try and stay awake, ok?" Dean repeated.

"Hmmph." Sam grunted his acknowledgement.

Dean moved back to Sam's leg, quickly and effectively binding the wound between small gasps of pain from Sam. If he was letting his pain be known like this, Dean knew things weren't good for his brother. Dean placed a bandage over the cut on Sam's chest in case in started bleeding again. As he finished securing the bandage, Dean glanced up to see pain etched onto Sam's face, sweat glistening on his brow in the light of the flashlight.

"Sam, I need to pop your shoulder back into place ok? We can't leave it like that for too long."

"Ok…just do it fast." Sam replied, steeling himself.

Dean shifted Sam away from the wall so that he could leverage himself behind him.

"Probably gonna pass out when you do it." Sam confessed.

"I don't blame you dude. Just promise you'll wake up later ok?" Dean said as he placed his hands.

"Think I can manage that." Sam whispered.

"Alright… 1, 2, 3." With a quick motion, Dean popped the joint back into place. Sam yelled as pain coursed through his shoulder and arm before collapsing against Dean in unconsciousness. Dean slowly lowered his brother to the ground. Dean checked his pulse again, relieved to find it steady, if not a little fast. Sam needed better care than gauze and sips of water.

"Alright, how do I get an unconscious gigantor up a ladder?" Dean mused, glancing around the basement. His eyes caught on a length of long, thick rope on a shelf across the basement. Dean grabbed it, unrolling it and pulling on it with all his strength.

Good. It was sturdy.

Dean inspected the cellar opening, finding a pulley hanging from a beam that was likely attached to the side of the house. Dean hadn't noticed it in his earlier haste. It was probably left over from the days when wood was used to heat the house, the pulley allowing logs to be lowered into the basement where the furnace was.

Dean slung the cord of rope around his shoulder, and climbed out of the basement. He closed one of the doors, testing its strength before stepping on top to reach the pulley dangling above him. He reached up and threaded one end of the rope through the old mechanism. Grabbing the shorter end of the rope, Dean pulled it down with him as he descended back into the basement. On the ground again, Dean knotted the rope around his waist. Grasping the other end, he pulled with all his strength, slightly hoisting himself up. The old wooden beam creaked ominously under the weight, but it held.

"Thank God." Dean breathed out. He untied himself, and walked back over to Sam. He tried again to rouse his brother, to no success. With the amount of blood Sam had lost Dean was convinced Sam was in shock. His earlier confusion and apparent inability to stay awake longer than 10 minutes only reinforced that diagnosis.

Dean pulled Sam off the floor, and gently but firmly grasped Sam under the armpit on his uninjured side, wary of his dislocated shoulder. As Dean began to awkwardly drag Sam's limp body towards the ladder, the injured man began to stir.

Dean laid his brother down in the square of light that shone through the cellar door as Sam blinked in the sudden brightness. "Dean- what're you doin'?"

"Getting your ass out of here. Listen, Sam, I need you to stay awake, ok? This is going to be a hell of a lot easier if you can."

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam whispered, blinking slowly.

"You're not gonna conk out of me again, are you?" Dean asked shrewdly

"I'm sorry for leaving you."

Dean ran a hand over his face. He couldn't deal with an emotionally and physically hurting Sam right now. Not so soon after reuniting with his brother.

"I know. We'll…we'll talk about it later, ok?" Dean said patiently.

"I'm sorry." Sam repeated.

"Later, Sam." Dean instructed firmly. Sam only blinked in response, processing Dean's words. He wasn't sure when later would be, but he hoped it involved a bed because all he wanted to do was sleep. Sam heard Dean let out a long sigh and heard him shuffling about.

Guess he's got a plan. Sam thought.

Dean resumed operation get-Sam-out-of-the-basement, aware of how silly this was going to make his brother look. With a little help from Dean, Sam sat up off the dirty floor. Dean had Sam sit in the middle of one of the blankets Dean had brought from the Impala, each side pulled up between Sam's legs. "I look like a baby Dean." Sam whined weakly.

"Yeah and with that whining you sound like one." Dean replied with a grin. Sam simply scowled back at him. Dean wrapped one end of the rope around Sam's waist several times before proceeding to wrap it around each of Sam's legs several times to create a kind of crude harness, the blanket providing a bit of padding. "Sorry dude. This is gonna hurt your manhood a bit." Dean said.

"You're gonna hurt your manhood a bit." Sam slurred.

"That doesn't even make sense, Sam." Dean retorted, "Whatever." He was glad to hear Sam joking, if badly. "I'm going to hoist you up, ok? I need you sit up and hold onto the rope for me. Can you do that?" Dean instructed. Sam grunted his response, eyes blinking slowly with exhaustion.

"Hold on tight— like that time we had to haul Dad out of that well." Sam chuckled. How the two of them had ever managed to haul their Dad out of that old well when Dean was barely a teenager would forever baffle him. Dean grabbed his duffel and flashlight, and wrapped the end of rope not attached to Sam around his shoulder a few times. Dean quickly climbed up the ladder again, depositing his duffel on the ground.

Dean braced his feet and, with all his strength, began to hoist his brother up. The beam creaked in protest with every pull of the rope, but it held.

"God you need to lay off the pizza and beer, man. College is making you fat." Dean grunted.

Finally, Sam was dangling awkwardly in midair just over the open basement doors. Dean quickly tied his end of the rope around a nearby tree and rushed forward to pull Sam over the ground. Sam managed to get his weight onto his uninjured leg, leaning heavily on Dean while he untied him. As soon as Sam lost the support of the rope though, he collapsed heavily into brother. "Woah, woah, woah. I got you, little brother."

"I know you do." Sam whispered, before his eyes fell shut again.

Dean sighed heavily.

"Let's get you the hell out of here." Dean declared. He shouldered his duffle and, with a grunt, hoisted Sam up into a fireman's carry and walked into the morning light towards the Impala.

A/N: Take a second to let me know your thoughts! Reviews let me know you all are enjoying this story :) Next chapter will be posted next Sunday (as in Feb 9).